Departure
by DarkSakura IIDX
Summary: The former Oktober Guard sniper says goodbye to her fallen comrade and makes a life-altering decision.
1. Departure: Disclaimer

**Title:** Departure 

**Chapters:** One. 

**Notes:** This is written from from the perspective of Daina, formerly of the Oktober Guard, at her fallen comrade's grave, featuring a special guest, Snake-Eyes.

**Summary:** This is a retelling of the events at the end of the Image comics G.I. Joe issue 19.

**Thanks to:** MiraiMarron, for proofreading it for me, making suggestions, and being my Sos. Longshot, for encouragement, feedback, and being the best Beach Head and Dead End roleplayer EVER.

**Disclaimer:** G.I. Joe is owned by Hasbro, Marvel, Image, Devil's Due, and whoever else I can't remember off the top of my head. Don't sue me, please. I am poor.

**Son of the Disclaimer:** The dialogue was taken directly from the end of the comic. The actions and thoughts, however, were my perception of that two-page event. (I also just had my wisdom teeth out and am high on Vicodin.) This is also the shortest fanfic I have ever written. Again, I attribute that to the fever and Vicodin.   
If you don't like what else I did, that's what the review function is for, isn't it? Make sure you review my fanfic if you read it! Constructive criticism is always welcome!


	2. Departure

**Departure**

**de·par·ture**_ n._

1.The act of leaving.   
2.A starting out, as on a trip or a new course of action.   
3.A divergence or deviation, as from an established rule, plan, or procedure.

________

I have no idea how long I have been standing here, clutching the roses in my hand, ignoring the sting of the thorns digging into the flesh there. There is a warm, almost pleasantly liquid sensation, sticky and vital. I realize finally that my hand is bleeding from where the thorns have punctured the skin. It's really nothing. I don't care.

My companion stands behind me, face impassive, bearing no distinguishing mark other than a vicious scar that descends from his forehead diagonally across to a point just under his left eye, partially hidden by opaque sunglasses. Snake-Eyes is a man used to guarding himself, but in this instance I feel as though he is guarding me and the ramblings that escape my lips as we stand in front of my fallen comrade's grave. We were Oktober Guard, and now there is nothing left.

"I know he betrayed us, but I can't help but feel sad for him." I hear myself say. "Gorky was a good man deep down." 

There is no need to turn around to face the silent man behind me. His acceptance is palpable, and I feel encouraged to continue.

"Ever since the Soviet Union fell, our nation has been tainted by glorified street criminals running the government. Paramilitary mad men…." 

There is a painful sting of emotion as I express this, not unlike the sting of the roses' thorns in my bare palm. As if needing to release both, I kneel before the marble stone, carefully setting the fragile blossoms on the extended portion just underneath the engraved name. Those tears are threatening again, but I hold them back, kneeling there with trained patience, examining every color displayed within the stone as though each were targets in the site of my sniper rifle.

"It is dog eat dog, and day by day for us. A solider isn't meant to question, though, but simply follow orders." The American approached me at this, standing over and beside me, simply listening and watching.

"All you can do is hope that your superiors are doing the right thing." I stand, turning to face my mysterious friend. 

"But that goes for any soldier, right?" 

He nods, slowly, features relaxing enough to indicate exactly how well he knew this fact. There is a definite set to his jaw with the simple motion, and I realize just how close he came to losing someone who meant as much, if not more, to him those four days previously. He had seen the gun pointed to his fiancée's head, and had thankfully acted in enough time to save her.

I sniff sharply, fighting against my turbulent emotions to maintain my composure. "Thank you for listening, Snake-Eyes. I just wanted to pay my respects. I'm ready to go now." 

He politely holds the door to the limousine for me, and I sit, holding my arms to myself as though being buffetted by a wind, though the air was warm and still with the promise of an early spring. Even as the door on the opposite side opened and closed and there was a definite pressure on the seat next to me, I take little notice, my eyes again traveling to Gorky's grave. The cemetery itself was only a few decades old, filled with statues dating almost a century back. The angels and towers stand about as monuments to those who had fallen before, yet the simple grey-flecked marble suits my friend's memory better than any of these more elaborate grave markers would have.

"I'll miss home, but moving to America could be just what I need." I finally say, and am surprised that I truly mean it. "I think becoming a member of G.I. Joe is just what I need."

I look out of the partially rolled down window, watching the grave grow smaller as the limo speeds off out of the cemetery to take us to the airport. There is a warm pressure on my forearm, and I turn to face my companion. The hand slowly rises from my arm, and extends itself in a gesture of welcome. 

I can feel the first smile in days forming on my lips, and accepted his hand readily, shaking once to offer the affirmation. This welcome from my silent friend is as official to me as any piece of paperwork, and I find myself able to settle into the plush interior of the limousine with a somewhat lighter heart than when I had left it upon our arrival.

_Z'ijte blaze._ I tell Gorky. _Goodbye._

________

**End.**


End file.
